Harry Potter - Mirror Bridge
by Ordaughter
Summary: Harry was brought up to appreciate the best in Muggle culture. With the death of his guardian, it is time to reenter the Magical world and become a child of two cultures. An episodic story of cultural discovery, friendship and a struggle with fate.


_Author's note: This is a work in progress. I will write this as an episodic story, much like a TV show. Each episode will have a story arc and will last a few chapters. I'm currently writing the first "establishing" episode and I have an overall arc planned out as well as lots of ideas for episodes._

_If you'd like to beta read this story, please send me a PM!_

Disclaimer: This is an entirely non-commercial work of fanfiction based on the work of JK Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - A Sacrifice**

_"She's dead, kid"._

Harry stumbled out of Guy's Hospital at London Bridge. His temples throbbed. His head turned. The doctor's final message still echoed in his mind. Dead. Harry was afraid he'd lose control. He couldn't focus, couldn't even begin to meditate, clear his mind, calm down. Harry walked on. He had to get away from here. His feet carried him on. Now he was crossing the London Bridge Station intersection under the glistening Shard. Harry heard a car braking hard, turned, and saw a black cab only a meter away from him. He felt the surge of his magic acting instinctively. Closing his eyes, he didn't see the cab coming to a sudden, unnatural halt, but he heard the bang as its machinery succumbed to the stress. Slowly, smoke emerged from beneath the chassis. Harry turned around and ran.

He found himself coming back to his senses on a bench in Hay's Galleria, staring at the Thames. Behind him, a water fountain drowned out the noise. He was unsure how much time had passed. The relentless July sun seemed unchanged over the river, but he sat in the shade. Harry felt calmer now. She was still dead, and he was still hurt, but his pain was a calm and cold one now, the turmoil had subsided. Slowly, Harry got up and took a few deliberate steps forward towards the river. He inhaled deeply and tasted the faint scent of seawater. Almost automatically he turned left and began to walk. He needed to think. His grandmother was dead, and he was, for all intents and purposes, an orphan again.

_Charlotte hadn't really been his grandmother of course, but it seemed the natural word to both Harry and her. Ms Charlotte Harris had adopted Harry when he was only two years old. His birth parents had been killed under mysterious circumstances. The Dursleys, his only other biological family had considered him a freak and had quickly gotten rid of him. They knew more than they let on. Charlotte, by then an elderly woman, was volunteering at an orphanage in Croydon, reading for the younger kids and teaching the older kids to write. As she witnessed the Dursleys abandoning Harry, she took an instant liking to him._

_Adopting Harry in her advanced age was a struggle, but when after months there was still no interest by other potential parents, Charlotte was finally given guardianship._

* * *

"In the end, the damage was far less than anticipated. When you told me about the magnitude of the magical outburst, you really had me worried!".

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior detective of the Aurors' Investigation Unit, looked up from his notebook. "Thanks, Arthur, I really appreciate it. All memories adjusted then?".

"Just had to give the car healer the conviction that the engine suffered from a rare malfunction. Nobody else seemed to have looked too closely. Muggles, eh? Sometimes they don't see magic if it looks them in the eye."

"Still, better safe than sorry. I'm going to track down who was responsible for -". At this moment, a sonorous voice interrupted them. "Ah, Kingsley, Arthur, how good to see both of you". "Dumbledore?", Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?".

"Looking for the same thing as you of course. The boy who caused this bit of accidental magic".

"Accidental magic? Boy? Dumbledore, you don't know the extent of what happened here. The outburst was far too powerful for accidental magic."

"On the contrary, Kingsley, not only am I aware what happened here, I am also aware of who caused this accident. Yes-", Dumbledore interjected as Kingsley began to protest, "- it was an accident."

Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt were stunned. "Who is the boy?", asked Arthur finally.

* * *

Harry Potter had reached the Southbank Centre. Having the sudden urge to wash his face, he walked into the building and went for the bathroom. A few concert goers waited for the urinals, but Harry went straight to the sink and splashed hot water into his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. What was he going to do next? He was only 12 years old. His grandmother had no living family. Was he going to be an orphan again? Slowly, he dried his face with a paper towel.

"This evening's performance will continue in 5 minutes, please take your seats now."

Harry watched the audience stream back into the auditorium of the Royal Festival Hall. Suddenly, he found himself getting up from the red sofa and follow a group of elderly men slowly up the stairs and into the auditorium. The usher didn't ask for his ticket. Maybe he didn't register Harry because he was too young, or because it was the second half. Harry went for one of the few empty seats and hoped no one would turn up late to claim it. The lights dimmed and the London Philharmonic Orchestra reentered the stage.

* * *

"Excuse me, have you seen this boy?".

The young woman was walking past the three wizards at a brisk pace and only glanced at the picture. Suddenly she came to a halt, reversed and took another long look at the picture.

"Far out, man", she said as she lifted her red headphones from her ears. She took a quick look at Arthur Weasley, then moved her eyes to Albus Dumbledore and a smile appeared on her lips. Then she studied Kingsley Shacklebolt and his purple robe from top to bottom. Her head nodded in approval. Finally, her eyes rested again on the picture. Not satisfied with looking, she reached for it, lifted it up to her eyes and inspected it slowly from all sides.

"Have you seen him anywhere?". Kingsley's asked slowly.

"Hmm? No, never seen him... Wow, the screen is so thin, where did you get it? It' right? I didn't know they were out yet. And the quality... What's the resolution on this?"

Kingsley and Arthur exchanged worried looks. "Yes!", Arthur exclaimed. "Yes! It is very ... good. Thank you.". He pulled the picture from her hands. "We have to go now, sorry. Good to meet you!".

Arthur Weasley quickly strode off and gave a sharp exhalation of relief. Kingsley had a look of worry and confusion as he followed him.

At a safe distance from the girl, Dumbledore and Kingsley had caught up with Arthur again. "Such a stupid mistake", Arthur cursed. "Muggle pictures don't move". Dumbedore seemed amused. "She seemed to have an explanation of her own for it."

"This isn't getting us anywhere", Kingsley muttered.

"Gentlemen", Dumbledore began calmly "I will be able to find Harry the next time he uses magic, and I have no doubt that it will happen soon. Until then, there is very little we can do."

"I need to get back tot he ministry, Dumbledore. The whole Auror department is working overtime ever since Black escaped. I really don't have time to search for kids. Are you sure he is safe? Do you think Black had anything to do with it?"

"Do not worry Kingsley, I am quite certain that Sirius Black is entirely innocent of today's events".

"Still, you better find him soon. The ministry is convinced that Potter is a person of interest for Black. He is not safe". And with that, Kingsley Shacklebolt popped away.

"I thought Harry Potter had vanished." Arthur Weasley murmured.

"He was never gone, Arthur", Dumbedore explained.

"Why is he not at Hogwarts?".

"Harry felt, at the time, that he had responsibilities that didn't allow him to attend".

* * *

Harry took a deep breath. Music. Only one of the many things his grandmother made him appreciate. How much of her was in him now? As Harry joined the audience in applauding the conductor back on stage, he wondered what piece they were going to play. Then the familiar sound of a single bassoon pierced the silence and Harry buried his face. They were playing Sacre Du Printemps. The bassoon repeated its call and Harry forced himself to sit straight, and listen. Stravinsky's ballet had been his grandmother's favorite. As more and more instruments joined the bassoon in a jungle of sound, Harry's breath quickened. Classical music always had this power over him, to make him shiver and sweat, but Sacre was special, especially today. The jungle reached it's climax and the sound broke. Harry folded his hands and anticipated the next movement. The bassoon began again.

Memories of Charlotte began to flood him. This was different from his walk along the South Bank. Then he had reflected. Now he was all emotions. The love she had for him. The joy of growing up. She had shared her passions with him, of music and film, the miracles of the natural world, philosophy, literature, imagination. She taught him reading and writing when he was young and when they went to museums and galleries, he would write short stories. Memories, so many memories. He felt it all over again. Her love for the city, her joy as he began to share her passions. But Sacre was not a peaceful piece. Harry knew what was coming. Turmoil and war. Sacrifice and death. Her stroke when he was only ten years old left her bedridden. And suddenly it was Harry who had to look out for her. He took her back to concerts, exhibitions and film screenings, but he could see her life fading. He began instead writing stories for her, stories of London. When he got the letter informing him of magic and the school, it was clear that he couldn't go. He couldn't leave her now. The strings now drove the music forward. A pulse went through the orchestra at an unpredictable beat. Harry felt the earth cracking open under his feet.

Dead. Dead. Over. Dead.

She had cared for him and made him who he was. And when she needed him, he had cared for her. "My time is coming soon", she had said. "I have to move on". Harry had denied it, but he could feel it too. "It's time to finish my story and start yours". Sacre.

Harry buried his face in his hands. The music was too much, too soon. He felt his magic and the music kept pushing forward. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He breathed in and out, slowly, consciously, concentrating on the warm, humid air as it entered his nostrils. But calm wouldn't come. The music was too strong. A lightbulb over a door closest to him exploded in a burst. Harry jumped up and left the auditorium as fast as he could.

* * *

"Oi, bit early for Christmas, innit?", one of the three boys shouted at the serene man on the bench. "Ey, Santa, bad hearin'?" shouted another. Still no reaction. "Come one, he's boring", mumbled the third and they strode off towards Oxo Tower.

Dumbledore was sitting under an illuminated tree looking at St Pauls hued orange by sunset light across the river. He glanced at the compas in his palm. The pointer was still black. No change. Now he was waiting for another sign from Harry, hoping the boy was okay. He had been afraid of this day, ever since it became clear that Harry would not attend Hogwarts, or any other magical institution, as long as his adoptive mother was still alive and in need of his care.

Suddenly the device in his hand began to jerk. The pointer had turned white and was emitting a faint glow. It pointed west. "Take me to him", Dumbledore uttered softly. Then, with a flick of his wand, he disappeared.

Dumbledore's apparition covered only a short distance. He popped back into existence under the Hungerford rail bridge. It was dark by now, and the yellow artificial light illuminated the concrete only dimly. "Harry?", the elder wizard whispered towards towards the young figure on the ground. "Everything will be alright, Harry. I am here for you". The boy lifted his head up from between his knees. "Professor... Dumbledore?", he stuttered. "I... my... she's dead... I lost control... I...". Dumbledore took two steps towards him and sat down on the ground beside him. "I know everything, Harry. You have my deepest sympathies for your loss". He reached out towards him, put an arm around his shoulder and drew the boy towards him. "It will be alright now."


End file.
